


Surrender to Reason

by ali_aliska



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Consent is Sexy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Insecure Bucky Barnes, M/M, Minor Misunderstandings, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Secret Relationship, Tony Stark Has A Heart, not team Cap friendly, soft and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ali_aliska/pseuds/ali_aliska
Summary: After a long day of pretending, that he was still one of the Rogues, that he didn’t mind when Steve stood too close and touched him too liberally, James’ nerves are frayed and he desperately needs to see Tony again, but the last thing he wants to be is a burden. Tony is already so busy and adding their secret relationship and James’ neediness right on top is already too much.His resolve breaks however and he shows up in the lab, worried he'll be turned away, but as always, Tony is ready to catch him. As always, Tony's steady love and his gentle touch sets James’ world to rights once again.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 28
Kudos: 563
Collections: Winteriron Winter Stockings 2020





	Surrender to Reason

**Author's Note:**

  * For [journeythroughtherain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/journeythroughtherain/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [journeythroughtherain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/journeythroughtherain/pseuds/journeythroughtherain) in the [winteriron_winter_stockings_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/winteriron_winter_stockings_2020) collection. 



> A fill for journeythroughtherain, whose prompts called for wonderful things like hurt/comfort, soft things and soft touches, mutual respect, all the consent, and happy endings.

“Hey, Buck, why don’t you join us for a movie?”

James stills where he stands over the sink, a brief show of weakness he hopes will go unnoticed by Steve. With deliberate movements, he resumes rinsing out the plate.

“I think I’ll pass on it today. Thanks though,” he replies, voice coming out gruffer than he intended. His whole body is a well of tension however and his only desire is to make it out of here without starting another argument.

Training and dinner with these people was more than enough for one day.

“You never spend any time with us though,” Steve wheedles and when James turns around, he’s greeted with a familiar smile. It’s the one meant to be charming and James is certain it works on plenty of people to help Steve get his way, but here, it just grates on his nerves.

James turns back, pumps more soap onto the sponge, and continues to rinse. “Like I said, m’good.”

“Come on, we’ll pick something you like. I’ll even let you steal my popcorn.”

“Steve, we all just had dinner together.”

“We scarfed down some leftovers, I would hardly call that family time,” Steve says and it’s a testament to James’ compromised mental state that he doesn’t notice Steve getting closer until it’s too late and Steve is standing right behind him and his hand wraps around the back of James’ neck—

James’ whole body grows perfectly still, his insides turning into icy shards, and he has to lock up the gears of his metal hand before he crushes the plate into dust.

He knows Steve’s friendly gesture is not meant to feel like a vise, but it _does_ and he’s not certain he can draw in a breath, let alone _think_.

Steve is oblivious, of course. He always is.

“It’ll be good for you to have some fun once in a while. You always disappear somewhere, keep to yourself, and that’s not healthy, Buck.”

“Oh, come on, Steve, give it up already,” Barton’s voice cuts through Steve’s softer cajoling and James is almost thankful for the distraction. “Barnes has been pissy all day, leave him to go brood in a corner somewhere.”

“Clint,” Steve reprimands, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Bucky’s just stressed, alright? And he’s sorry for what happened earlier.”

“Like hell he is. I’m gonna be hurting for days. Whatever.” James can hear him opening and closing the cupboards with unnecessary force; there’s rustling of bags and shifting of cardboard before, “I don’t care who shows up for what, but either way, Wanda and I are starting without you.”

James doesn’t watch him leave, eyes still glued to the plate in his hands. Still, he can imagine Barton’s limp well enough.

Barton managed to get one thing right here, at least. James _isn’t_ sorry, even if he didn’t exactly plan on using excessive force. Typically, he’s got a good handle on things, years of Hydra training all but ensuring tight control over every movement and muscle, but sometimes…

Sometimes he sends Barton flying across the gym just to shut him up during training.

They’re not an official team of course, since no one in their right mind would sanction Steve’s leadership over anything, but ever since they came back to the States, pardoned and unrepentant, they’d stuck to each other like glue off the field.

Mostly. Natasha weaves her way in and out of social circles, but she always comes right back to Steve, like a moth to a flame, and James wonders if she hates herself for it.

Lang disappeared around Day Two and other than seeing glimpses of him around the Compound, James only hears his name alongside accusations of being a spineless coward who decided to crawl back to his mistress.

In James’ biased opinion, Lang’s ‘detraction’ has less to do with Hope van Dyne and more to do with Lang’s willingness to choose his daughter over his pride.

Not everyone here has made that choice and they suffer the consequences, often without an ounce of grace.

Steve’s hand squeezes the back of his neck and James is hurtled back to the present with a full body shudder, one he desperately hopes Steve doesn’t notice either.

“Don’t listen to him, okay? Clint’s just—”

“It’s fine. He has a right to be mad. Go watch your movie, Steve. I need—” James hesitates. He knows exactly what he needs, but it’s not something he’ll admit openly, anywhere, but especially not within this particular circle. “I just need to be alone,” he says instead, and it’s a lie, spoken so easily, and everyone always believes him. “My head’s not feeling so good today.”

“I hate leaving you alone when you’re going through this though, Buck.”

 _“_ I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure…” Steve’s hand trails down his back, the touch meant to be comforting, but all James wants to do is crawl out of his skin. “You know where to find me, yeah?”

Steve finally leaves when James responds with a nod. He waits for Steve to clear the hallway and doesn’t bother finishing the rest of the dishes before he makes his own hasty escape.

* * *

James changes his mind halfway to his destination and heads to his room instead, determined to deal with this awful headspace on his own. It’s a noble thought, really, but today, the execution of his selflessness fails. Sitting alone and brooding only makes things worse as his thoughts and his anger and the need to _break_ something all close in on him further.

He’s tired and stressed and the weight of the last few days is dragging him down, some of which is no surprise and comes with the territory of being a brainwashed assassin, but some of it is also the company he keeps these days. Their incessant chatter, their never-ending complaints. All the finger-pointing and the self-righteous delusions.

It was tolerable, before, back in Wakanda, when James didn’t know any better, when he even believed some of it.

Coming back to the States and meeting the people Steve and the others hated so desperately was a much needed—and _rude_ —awakening.

Now though, listening to Barton vomit up his casual vitriol whenever he doesn’t get his way, listening to Steve turn every restriction into a moral failing—on everyone else’s part, but never his own—listening to Maximoff act like a perfect angel, who wouldn’t hesitate to use her ill-gotten powers to stab you right in the back…

There’s only so much a man can take and a man like him, who already wrestles enough demons to fill the better part of hell? His own patience is progressively thinner these days and he can’t keep pretending that he’s one of them, can’t keep listening to the chatter. He wants— _needs_ —

The tiny keening noise he makes is pathetic and he spends a good minute pacing with a hand over his mouth, battling his own needs with the desire to not be a damn burden.

He knows he’ll do something stupid though, something he’s going to _actually_ regret, if he doesn’t get himself under control.

The pacing stops as he makes a decision. His heart is guilty for doing this, especially with everything going on, but already there’s a kernel of relief, a sliver of giddiness building up at the pit of his stomach.

He heads to the other side of the Compound, where the others won’t follow—they can’t, not with their meager clearance—to the one place in the world where he’ll feel like himself.

* * *

The doors to the lab open for him without the need for permission and the spark of giddiness, one he thought would wear off after all these months, is still there, each time Friday lets him into this sanctuary without a word.

The lab is empty, as expected.

Tony is busy, always so busy, with a thousand responsibilities on his plate, and he’s in a meeting right now, hashing things out with a whole parade of politicians that descended on the Compound for a ‘summit’ that feels more like a swarm. It’s a security nightmare at best, everyone involved has been on edge for weeks prior, and of course, Tony is at the center of this whole storm, with an eye on every chess piece and a hand in every dealing.

It’s the worst time to add yet another thing to that impossibly long list, but now that he’s here, now that the smells, sights and sounds of the lab envelop him like a hug, James knows the only way he’s going to leave is if Tony asks him to.

Friday murmurs something about Tony’s meeting lasting another hour or two, then mentions fresh fruit and new snacks stashed away in the lab’s pantry. He thanks her, but bypasses the small kitchenette in favor of the dresser that sits tucked away, just behind the ratty couch that has already started calling his name.

Tony spends so much time down here and James has picked up the same habit as well, as evidenced by one of the dresser drawers being full of _his_ things these days. Almost everything here was gifted to him by Tony, things he doesn’t have any desire to wear around the others.

He makes quick work of stripping himself out of his clothes and slipping into the softest pair of sweatpants known to man, followed by a black shirt emblazoned with a bold red and gold Iron Man armor. This one is also soft, the material like butter against his skin as he slips it over his head, and even the smell is wonderful. It’s freshly laundered with Tony’s clothes, so it smells like he always does, and James sighs from the simple pleasure of it.

He’s certain this shirt is not part of the line sold by Stark industries, as none of those are made to be this soft and luxurious, but when James had asked, Tony gave him that trademark mischievous smile and told him to stop asking question and to put on the shirt so Tony could take a good look at him.

The fit, as always, was perfect.

A pair of bright red, fuzzy socks is next and then James is bee-lining it for the couch, practically crumbling onto it as he tries to tug the blanket out from underneath him and wrap himself up in it.

The blanket is a gigantic plush thing, yet another gift, and the fact that Tony keeps it out here on the couch, even when James isn’t around and isn’t supposed to come by, stirs something warm and longing inside him. He draws the blanket tighter around himself and rubs his face into the pillow until he’s comfortable and settled. Finally, he lets his eyes fall shut.

He’s not planning to sleep and he’s certain he can’t anyways, not with the way he’s been keyed up all day long, but letting his body rest and his mind drift isn’t a bad idea, and hopefully by the time Tony is done with his meetings, James won’t feel like a live wire ready to snap.

He overestimates how deceptively comfortable his little cocoon of warm, soft things really is though.

* * *

It’s the sensation of being watched that wakes James up, but even before his mind does, his instincts and his body know he’s not in danger. He’s wonderfully warm and the world around him is filled with the noises of Tony’s lab, so he’s safe, safer than he can be anywhere else in the world.

A few lazy blinks adjust his eyes to the light and he finds Tony lounging in one of the chairs by the workbench, straddling it backwards, chin propped up on his forearms. Watching.

He’s still dressed up, although the suit jacket is gone, flung over the back of another chair. The rest of him though is still perfectly put together. A crisp white shirt, a bright red tie, slacks that fit him like a dream, hair immaculate. Every detail chosen to portray both his beauty and power.

He’s so painfully handsome that the first sensation James is assaulted with upon waking is _want_. Tony’s lips twitch, as if he knows exactly what James is thinking.

“You with me now, handsome?” he drawls, showing no intention of moving, even if his gaze is enough to feel like a physical weight on James. “What a surprise, finding you down here today.”

“Sorry about that,” James mumbles as he struggles to sit up, tangled up as he is in the voluminous blanket. So much for being a master assassin and a super soldier, he muses to himself. Being here, surrounded by the things Tony had gifted him, surrounded by all the things that make this place _Tony’s_ , it turns him downright careless.

It was a revelation, at first, learning he didn’t quite mind.

“What are you saying sorry for?”

“Hmm?” James hums, then realizes he got caught up in his thoughts. “Oh. I know you weren’t planning to see me tonight, what with the summit and everything, but I just—” Some of the words start to lose themselves in the weeds. “I just needed—”

“James,” Tony says as he stands, the name spoken with such a steady authority that James quiets. He does sit up though, legs planted back on the floor, and he looks up when Tony approaches him. “You think I wouldn’t want to see you tonight?”

“I know you had a lot to do today,” James whispers, but he doesn’t say more under Tony’s scrutiny.

“I have a lot to do every day, darling. That’s no reason to apologize, especially not for treating me to the sight of you spread out on my couch.”

James nods, but by the look on Tony’s face, it isn’t very convincing.

“Bad day?” Tony asks next, his voice softer, and he must see all the weight, deep, deep down inside James’ bones, which makes the second nod all but superfluous.

“Feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin—or punch someone.”

Tony hums. “Can I touch you, sweetheart?” he asks, as if James would ever, ever say ‘no’.

He didn’t even say ‘no’ that very first time, when Tony had found him in the stairwell, hyperventilating and feeling like the walls were closing on him. Tony had sat with him and spoke just as softly, guiding him back to reality, and when he asked if it was alright to reach out, he didn’t touch him until James mumbled a strangled affirmative.

Tony had asked so he could examine the impressive bruising and blood James had left behind on his right hand after punching a wall, but all James can remember from that moment is the warmth of Tony’s capable hands.

“Yes, of course,” he whispers in the here and now and he _melts_ , all the way down to his core, when Tony brushes stray hairs away from his forehead, traces his brow with his thumb, and cups James’ cheek.

James’ eyes flutter shut, letting himself savor each touch.

Tony’s thumb brushes over the arch of his cheek then, back and forth, and James’ whole body sways with the touch. Tony must feel it too, the boneless mass that James’ body becomes, because he shushes him tenderly, whispers, “I got you,” and with a gentle hand at the back of James’ head, he guides James to rest his head against Tony’s stomach, temple pressed to that crisp, white shirt that smells of the same sweet laundry detergent that the rest of James’ clothes carry on them these days.

“Just breathe with me for a few seconds, alright?” Tony says and takes a big breath, which James dutifully mirrors. There’s a hand carding through his hair now, the other brushing against a spot at the back of his neck, and James is certain Tony could ask him to burn the whole world down right now and James would eagerly do it.

He’d die for Tony, he knows this. He’d kill for him, if it came to it, but Tony never asks for such things. Never asks for anything James isn’t able to give.

Even in the beginning, as they kept stumbling into each other’s orbit, first by that serendipitous chance, then as a deliberate way to satiate a morbid curiosity about each other… Even then, when Tony realized James was listless and lost, left afloat without a purpose, the orders came wrapped up in so much tenderness.

_“Eat a warm meal tonight for me, would you?”_

_“Here, wrap yourself up in this and see if you can catch some sleep. Can you do that for me?”_

_“Stay with me tonight, James.”_

_“Eyes on me, sweetheart, that’s it. God, you’re so beautiful.”_

Even now, all Tony wants is for James to keep breathing, so he does, matching the rise and fall of Tony’s stomach, letting the struggles of the day roll off his shoulders with each brush of Tony’s fingers.

“You know,” Tony eventually says, and his voice is soft enough that it doesn’t disturb James’ relaxed state, “there’s no reason to apologize for coming down here. Why else would I give you unlimited access, hmm?”

There’s a perfectly good point in there somewhere, James is sure, but it’s hard to think when those clever fingers are massaging his scalp.

“Didn’t want to disturb you,” he mumbles, because he _is_ a distraction. Another thing for Tony to worry about, a secret in need of keeping, and sometimes James still wonders why Tony goes along with this whole song and dance, why he’s put up with months and months of secret meetings and endless text messages and dinners shared over a workbench and long nights spent wrapped up in each other on a too-small couch.

Only Friday knows they’re anything at all to each other, anything beyond lukewarm allies who no longer want to get at each other’s throats.

“Seeing my boyfriend after a long, crappy day seems exactly like the distraction I need.”

 _Boyfriend._ The term sounds so mundane, so _normal_ , and Tony always says it so effortlessly.

James hates cutting this moment short, hates putting any space between them, but he needs to pull away to look at Tony, to see for himself that particular way Tony looks at him.

It’s the same as before and so is the gentle way Tony touches him and James wishes he could have this _always_ , not just when they’re hidden away in the privacy of Tony’s lab.

“You’re over thinking things, handsome,” Tony murmurs, despite James not saying a thing. With a parting brush of his knuckles against James’ cheek, Tony takes a step back, but he isn’t leaving, only working to remove his tie with unhurried movements, pulling it off and hanging it over the jacket.

“Hey, Fri, cancel whatever else I may have today, would ya?”

“Will do, Boss.”

“Tony, no, if you have more work—”

“I don’t anymore,” Tony winks as he says. He toes off his loafers, unbuttons the first few buttons of the shirt to reveal a tantalizing sliver of golden skin, undoes the cuffs and begins to roll up the sleeves. “This is purely selfish. I had one hell of a day, I am tired and cranky and I would like nothing more than to join you underneath that blanket.”

James still wants to protest, feels like he doesn’t deserve this, but his tongue doesn’t seem to be working as his attention is squarely focused on Tony and those languid movements, the way he makes a show out of undressing himself when he isn’t even _undressing_ , just undoing the stuffy edges of his formal attire. James still can’t help but be entranced.

He swallows thickly when Tony saunters over again, nudges James’ knees apart with his own to stand right between them and this is one of James’ favorite ways to be, looking up at Tony, basking in his gaze, feeling the heat of his body, finding himself vulnerable and open, but knowing that whatever comes next will only bring him pleasure and peace.

Certainly not the sort of trust they’d arrived at easily. It took effort and time and _words_ —which were the hardest of all—but once they were left alone, without the drama and the influence and the white noise of others, they had no reason to lie to each other, no need to pretend to be anything other than themselves.

Tony brushes his hand through James’ hair again.

“Can I kiss you, sweetheart?” he asks, that sultry whisper making James shiver, and when he nods, his eyes hooded and his breathing unsteady, Tony cups the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, and tilts it up to meet him when he leans down to press their lips together.

It’s infinitely gentle, both the kiss and the hold, and the way Tony breaks the connection to whisper, “You’re so sweet for me, James,” is intoxicating and James can’t help but sigh and melt into it and simply let himself _be_.

And maybe this was the thing that made him fall in love with Tony in the first place, amongst a million smaller, equally beautiful things. In here, with Tony, he never had to _pretend_. He didn’t have to play the role of a dead man, didn’t have to pretend to be strong—or charming or graceful or witty. He didn’t even have to pretend to be broken in some more palatable, acceptable way that made others enjoy treating him like a poor, pathetic stray. He didn’t have to be anyone else but himself here.

Tony presses their foreheads together and for a second, they just breathe, before Tony nudges his nose against James’, every touch still so gentle that it borders on reverent.

“Come on, let’s lie down so you can start to relax.” His thumb is brushing up and down the column of James’ throat though, a pure distraction, even as he adds, “Do you want me to grab anything? Water, tea? I think there’s still a few treats left in the fridge. I swear I didn’t eat all the brownies this time.”

“No, m’fine,” James mumbles and tries to shake away the trance Tony had put him in, if only so he can answer coherently and avoid falling asleep. Time with Tony is so precious these days and he doesn’t want to waste a second of it. “Maybe later we can have dinner together?”

He catches himself on the question too late, but Tony doesn’t call him out on the selfishness. All he does is grin wide, kiss James on the cheek, and finally break away to start fussing with the blanket and pillows.

“Of course we’ll do dinner. We’ll have something brought down from the cafeteria again, lord knows they’re used to delivering meals while fretting over me not getting enough fresh air and sunshine.”

“You _don’t_ get enough air and sunshine though,” James points out. He helps to unravel the blanket nest and when Tony lies down and opens his arm as an invitation, James doesn’t hesitate to slot himself in between the couch and Tony’s body, swinging one leg over Tony’s, wrapping the metal arm around Tony’s middle and hiding his face in the crook of Tony’s neck. Tony’s arm settles around him and _oh_ , this little moment right here, this feels like home.

Tony is warm and he smells of perfume and coffee and whatever else James can’t identify as anything other than _Tony_. He loses himself in the sensations, letting more and more of his stress fall away. Tony starts to brush his fingers through James’ hair again, which is a wonder in its own right, and if James concentrates, he can pick up Tony’s heartbeat like this.

It’s _heaven_ and James basks in the pleasure, content to spend these blissful moments in silence.

“You wanna talk about anything?” Tony eventually asks though and James gives it a moment’s thought before shaking his head against Tony’s chest.

“No. Nothing to talk about, really. It’s the same shit we deal with every other day. I just… hit my limit earlier than I meant to.”

“You know you don’t need to _have_ a limit at all, right? Just say the word and I can set you up on our side of the Compound, a cute little room next to mine or something, you’ll never have to see Rogers and friends again. Hell, you don’t even go out on missions, so it’d literally take a phone call and an hour to move all your stuff.”

“S’fine, Tony,” James says and he feels more than hears the resigned way Tony sighs. This discussion is certainly nothing new, even if each time James feels his resolve crumbling from the force of temptation.

“It’s _not_ fine,” Tony adds after a few breaths. “Not when you show up in my workshop looking miserable and stressed out of your mind—and _no_ , I’m not saying that to mean ‘don’t show up in my workshop’, James, because that’s the furthest thing from what I mean—but what I am saying…” Tony’s chest rises and falls again, the exhale weary. “You don’t have to put up with them, that’s all.”

James doesn’t answer right away, unsure what he can say that hasn’t already been said. The hand in his hair is still gentle at least and so James lies there, torn between wanting to melt into Tony and feeling the weight of their lives pressing down on him.

A good minute or two passes again and James thinks Tony has dropped the topic for now, but then Tony whispers, his voice unusually gruff, “You’re… doing this because of me, aren’t you?”

 _Of course I am_ , James can’t help but think _. I’d do anything for you._

It’s physically painful to pull himself out of Tony’s embrace, but this is serious enough that James wants all of his attention on the conversation. He raises himself up and turns so he can meet Tony’s eyes. They’re still connected of course, legs tangled up, middles pressed together, and James slides his metal arm to lay against Tony’s side, bracketing Tony in with his body.

Being physically stronger has never been a particular perk in this relationship, aside from the occasional desire to manhandle Tony against the wall, if only to hear Tony sigh and coo and spill out endearments like prayers, but even then, Tony somehow finds a way to take control of the situation and James gives into him every time.

He’d much rather get lost in Tony’s touch anyways, follow his voice to whatever Tony decides to take them, and enjoy being cared for, but sometimes, like this moment right here, he’s reminded of Tony’s fragile humanity. James’ eyes flicker away from the metal plates of his arm, a sense of protectiveness he’d never given words to warring with his desire to take everything Tony so readily offers him.

“We both know if I leave,” he finally says, “even if it’s just to the other side of the Compound, hell will break loose. If Steve doesn’t have me around, he’s going to lose his mind and the others will use this as an excuse to make trouble and they already cause enough of it as it is. It doesn’t matter if I tell him it’s my decision, it won’t matter if I move to a different wing or a different city, Steve is going to decide something is wrong, with _me_ , or that someone else is pulling the strings, and given their current vendetta, he’s going to decide that the problem is _you_.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You can’t let him hold you hostage like that. Plus, I mean, he’s not exactly wrong, about the ‘me’ part. I did kinda steal you away, didn’t I?”

“Stealing implies I belonged to him in the first place.”

Tony cringes. “Sorry. That wasn’t what I was trying to say.”

“I know.” James softens his own reply, because the last thing Tony needs to feel is more guilt. Besides, he isn’t exactly wrong here either. James does belong now, to this space, to this moment. His heart certainly belongs to Tony, no matter how any of this plays out in the future. “I’m not being held hostage. I just don’t want to add more fuel to the fire, that’s all. You already have so much on your plate, I don’t want to cause you another headache.”

“So it _is_ about me then.” Tony looks away with a huff. “James, you don’t need to protect me—especially not at the expense of your own sanity.” He bites his lip and deflates, some of the fire tempering down, and when his eyes meet James’ for a brief moment, they’re pleading for understanding. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to do this. You know that I don’t expect you to keep pretending or—or that I would never expect you to keep up an act for my sake, right? You’re not some dirty little secret I keep tucked away in this lab, you’re not—” Tony sounds pained when he cuts himself off with an expletive.

“Tony, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You come here, apologizing for showing up, like you’re intruding or something—and it isn’t even the first time, which means this is on me, that I haven’t been— _clear_ enough.” He frames James’ face with his hands and now there’s no way to escape that piercing gaze. “You have been the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time, James Barnes. Do you know that?”

“I think that speaks more to the shit you’ve put up with in the last couple years.”

“No,” Tony says, frowning now, and he shakes James’ head gently. “Don’t deflect, James. It speaks to the fact that _you_ are amazing. You’ve been so good to me.”

“I…” James’ brows furrow now too. “I don’t see how that’s true. You’ve been the one taking care of me. I’m the one who falls apart every other week, I haven’t even—I’ve brought you the occasional cup of coffee and given you back massages. That isn’t exactly—much.”

“How many nights have you spent listening to me ramble away about whatever was bothering me? Hmm? Even before we became a thing, you were here for me. How many times have you told me I could _do_ something when I felt I was failing everyone here?”

“I was just telling you the truth.”

“Yeah, and holding me together in the process. And the fact that you _need_ me, the fact that you let me—” Tony’s breath catches. “The fact that you give yourself over to me so easily, let me take care of you, trust me enough to know I would never hurt you… It’s intoxicating and validating and it’s sexy as hell and I’m pretty sure I’m the luckiest man alive…” He pulls James in for a kiss and this one is a little more desperate, a little more needy, and when there’s air between them, Tony whispers, “You’re perfect, James—and yeah, I won’t lie, I like that this belongs to just us right now. I like having our own little bubble.”

“I like that too,” James whispers into the warm space between them. He shivers and leans in for another peck. “I told you, it’s fine. Everyone just got on my nerves today and I overreacted. Not the end of the world, even if Barton acts like it.”

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world either if we tell everyone though,” Tony continues, ignoring the unspoken offer to move on from the topic. “I like having you all to myself, but all you have to do is _ask_ and I’ll tell everyone that we’re together and if someone has a problem with that—well, what else is new? Everything I do has its critics, I’m not going to let that stop me.”

Tony is so earnest and his offer digs at James’ resolve even more than before. It’s tempting, so tempting, to allow himself this freedom, to be able to kiss and hold Tony whenever, to enjoy lazy Sunday mornings in the kitchen and go out together and simply be… _ordinary_ , just two people in love.

It’s tempting and it’s sweet and James feels an inordinate amount of warmth just thinking about it.

The offer itself, the honest way in which Tony delivers it, means this is as serious for Tony as it is for James and he’s not sure why he still doubts Tony’s feelings for him when every interaction, every touch, every word has only proven Tony’s devotion.

He’s certain it has something to do with his myriad of issues and he’s lucky that Tony is patient and kind and willing to convince him over and over that James is _wanted_.

Tony is willing to take on the troubles of their relationship coming to light, to deal with Steve’s jealousy and anger, to weather the inevitable judgement of their colleagues, the public, the world.

All for him.

Overwhelmed, James presses their foreheads together to hide his face. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers in another moment of weakness, but Tony just chuckles and presses a kiss to a spot on James’ cheek he can reach.

“How about you let me decide what you deserve, sweetheart? Because as far as I’m concerned, you deserve the whole damn world and I’m quite eager and willing to give it to you.” He swallows, James can feel the subtle rock of his body. “It’s okay if you’re not ready though. It’s even okay if you don’t feel it’s worth all the trouble right now. It will always be your decision, but know that it’s on the table, alright? Plus, if you want… We can always start slow?”

James hums inquisitively, the curiosity enough to sneak a peek at Tony again. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we can start by telling _my_ friends—and to be perfectly honest, I’m pretty sure they all suspect something is going on anyways.”

“Oh.”

“Rhodey’s too damn smart, Happy’s too nosey, and I have literally never been able to lie to Pepper, so it might not even come as a shock.”

“Would they… hate the fact that you’re with me? They’re not exactly my biggest fans.”

“They’ll love you, James,” Tony says and when James isn’t subtle about his doubts, Tony tuts and ushers him to lie back down. He drags the blanket over them both and as he goes back to brushing his fingers through James’ hair, Tony adds, “They will absolutely adore you, okay? I know them and I know you and because I—” His breath catches again. “Because I _adore_ you, they will as well. We all have very good tastes.”

It’s tempting, if James is honest. A test, in some ways, to see how the world would react and probably the easiest one to pass, which isn’t saying much because Tony’s friends are fiercely protective, competent and brilliant in their own unique ways, and each with a way to make James’ life much, much worse if they deem him a threat to Tony’s well-being.

That notion scares him as much as it comforts him because it’s also the same way James feel about Tony. He huffs to himself, acknowledging the commonalities and maybe he’ll have something to bond over with Tony’s friends after all. He doesn’t play the Winter Soldier anymore, content to live out the rest of his life without seeing another battlefield, but if push comes to shove… Well, he’d like to think he’d make a great addition to the task-force assigned to keep Tony alive and well.

“What are you thinking, sweetheart?” Tony asks and it’s the falter in his voice, the uncertainty, that seals the answer for James.

“I think I’d like that. To let your friends know, I mean. I don’t want to tell everyone—and I’m fine being around Steve and the others. We’ll deal with that— _later_ , somehow, but I think it’d be nice to tell a few friends.”

Tony lets out a small, joyful noise and presses his lips into James’ hair. “I think I’d like that very much too,” he says and it hits James, how much this really means to Tony, both their relationship and their future.

His stomach swoops with the oncoming onslaught of nerves, fear and excitement and hope all wrapped up into one, but James knows— _trusts_ —that Tony will be by his side no matter what.

All of these are feelings to dwell on some other day though and James allows them to fade as he lets the press of Tony’s body calm his thoughts once again as they both settle into a comforting silence.

Eventually, the beat of Tony’s heart steadies, the rise and fall of his chest slows, and soon Tony is out, fast asleep. He’s likely exhausted beyond belief after the last week of non-stop hustle and bustle and so James lets him sleep, even if his own sleep is elusive now, with the earlier nap more than enough to last him through the whole night. He’s content to stay right where he is though. He soaks in the sensation of home, counts the steady breaths of the man he loves and thinks about tomorrow.


End file.
